Transference
by Geonn
Summary: Darien discovers a way to relieve himself of quicksilver madness... but at what cost?
1. The Apothecary

  
Transference  
  
  
Author's Note: For those of you who are fans of the series "C.S.I.", this fic takes place immediately following the episode "Table Stakes." All you Imaniacs, between "Small World" and "Legends"  
  
  
  
Bobby Hobbes belched.  
  
Darien rolled his eyes and said, "And you wonder why I'M the only one who'll eat dinner with you."  
  
Hobbes wiped off his mouth and pushed his plate away. ""I'm stuffed, partner. Stuff-ola. Could not eat another bite." He checked his watch and said, "Looks like I'm headin' out. You catch this one?" He asked, indicating the plates.  
  
Darien nodded. "Yeah, sure... but you get lunch tomorrow."  
  
"Sure thing, partner. See you then, all right?"  
  
"All right."  
  
Hobbes stood and walked out of the restaurant, nabbing a fortune cookie out of the container next to the cash register.  
  
Darien Fawkes cracked open the fortune cookie that had been delivered with the check and fished out the small slip of paper inside. He set it on the napkin and proceeded to crunch into the actual cookie. He found that most people threw this part away but he found it sweet, enjoyable. He never passed up the chance to taste the texture of a fortune cookie. He often found it more fulfilling than the proverb found inside. When he finished, he picked up the fortune and unfolded it.  
  
"The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials."   
  
He shrugged and opened his wallet, adding this to the dozens already there. Pulling out a ten, he placed a tip next to the plate and slid to the edge of the booth.  
  
It was then that the old man stepped up to the table. "Greetings, sir. Was the meal... satisfactory?"  
  
"Uh... Yeah. Fine."  
  
"I am pleased to hear that. Do you desire anything further? Dessert? Another drink, perhaps?"  
  
"Uh, no, I'm good."  
  
"Peace?"  
  
Darien paused. "Pardon?"  
  
"I offer peace to you, my son. Come. Follow me." He turned on his heel and began walking towards the back of the restaurant. Darien watched the ancient man slide away, his robes hiding his feet and giving the impression he was floating. After a bit of mental battle, he stood and followed through the swinging doors of the kitchen.  
  
A Chinese boy looked up from the meal he was preparing, his eyes partially hidden behind dark black bangs. The look was fleeting; in under a second the boy was back to chopping greens. Darien continued and found the door the old man had disappeared into. Cracking the door, he peered inside.  
  
The old man had sat behind an old folding table covered with spices, herbs and pots of water. A chill ran down Darien's spine and he wasn't sure why. He had the sudden urge to turn and run, run until he got home and jumped into bed. Against his better judgement, he entered the room and sat across from the man.  
  
"You... are afflicted with a terrible curse. This curse holds you, confines you. It is a barrier to your freedom."  
  
"You could say that..."  
  
"This curse causes you to lose control. The ones who hold you hold the cure to this. Am I correct?"  
  
Darien remained silent.  
  
"I am... I am... Great evil has affected you. It reaches down to your very core, surrounds you at all times of the day and clutches at your throat like a demon pulling you into hell. Every day is a battle against the base desires of yourself. You are living a true hell..."  
  
Darien looked at the herbs. "What did you say about peace?"  
  
"I can stop the curse from holding you. I can release you from your bonds, both mental and physical. You will be free forever more."  
  
Darien's mind reeled. Free? Free of the Agency, of counteragent, of the gland, of Arnaud? It was a lot of things for an old Chinese man to promise. "How?"  
  
"Trust me. My followers call me the Apothecary."  
  
"Followers?" He stood. "Okay, is this some sort of cult thing? Cause all I really wanted was some kung pao chicken..."  
  
The Apothecary laughed. "It is not a cult, I assure you. Please, sit." Darien reluctantly complied. "All I ask is that you allow yourself to be freed. I will charge you nothing; no harm will come to you. To be free, all you must do is drink."  
  
"Drink?"  
  
The Apothecary reached across the table, his bony hands shaking uncontrollably. He picked up a small vial containing green leaves and red berries. Pouring this into a mixing cup, he found a second vial. This one held some sort of blue berries. He added this to the mixing cup and picked up a blunt wooden tool. He mashed the ingredients to a fine powder, then poured it into a sake cup. He slid it to the center of the table and sat back.  
  
The drink smelled like cinnamon; it looked like sewer water. Darien lifted the glass and asked, "This won't make me run through the halls, stripping off my clothes... will it?"  
  
"Of course not. It will free your mind from the demon that holds it. Drink."  
  
Darien thought, 'Well, like the old song says... I held my nose, I closed my eyes....'  
  
He took a drink.  
  
The Apothecary nodded slowly. "Go. Worry no more. You are free."  
  
---  
  
AJ Cross pulled down the lever on the one-armed bandit and began chanting under his breath as the three slots spun rapidly. "Come on, baby... come on, baby... come on..."  
  
Cherry... cherry... 7...  
  
"AW! Come on!" He slapped the side of the machine in frustration and looked into his coin jar. He had roughly ten dollars left out of 200. With a groan of disappointment, he decided to cut his losses and give in. He walked away from the machine and went deeper into the casino.  
  
Las Vegas, Nevada. Not the normal destination for a two-week getaway. Well, at least not for Arthur Jamison Cross. His idea of a vacation was sitting at home, falling asleep in the recliner with a beer in one hand, potato chips in the other and some inane game show playing on TV. But this year, the wife had won out and they actually scrapped together an actual vacation. They'd loaded up the station wagon and headed out to Sin City itself.  
  
Now, Cross was wishing he was back in that recliner. He had lost one-hundred and ninety dollars. Who could tell how much his wife had lost by now. As he headed for the exit of the casino, he spotted someone walking away from a slot machine in anger. Chewing his lip, AJ Cross decided that, for once in his life, he was going to take a chance.  
  
He pounced on the recently vacated machine and pumped in a coin. Pulling down the arm, he began chanting, "Don't fail me now, don't fail me now..."  
  
Seven... Seven... Seven... Jackpot!  
  
Bells rang, lights flashed and people screamed, several people patted him on the back. Cross was in shock. He stared at the coins filling the tray and tried to catch his breath. Jackpot... he had hit the jackpot! He was a winner! He gathered the coins, already planning on how he would tell Shannon...  
  
---  
  
That night, as Darien Fawkes brushed his teeth, he looked at himself in the mirror, then checked his tattoo. He looked back into the mirror and stuck his tongue out.  
  
He didn't FEEL any different.  
  
He didn't LOOK any different.  
  
The tattoo was two segments full; same as it had been before he had taken the Chinese man's potion. All he had gotten was a purple tongue from the red and blue berries. He sighed and shut off the bathroom light. Climbing into bed, he remembered the fortune he had gotten earlier. The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials. Trials like quicksilver madness, he guessed. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.  
  
---  
  
Once he was alone again, the Apothecary picked up the glass and poured the remaining liquid into a small candle holder. Lighting a match, he lit the wick and watched as the drink burst into flames. Thick plumes of silver-colored smoke rose from the candle. The Apothecary blew softly, sending the smoke forward. It would reach it's destination soon enough.  
  
Soon enough...  
  
---  
  
That night, Shannon and AJ made love like they hadn't in a long time. Hell, ever. When they finally stopped to rest, Shannon picked up AJ's coin bucket and grabbed a handful, letting it slip through her slender fingers and clank against the other coins. She laughed and said, "Outstanding! How did you win all of this?"  
  
AJ sighed, smiling. "I told you three times."  
  
She curled up against his side, stroking his chest. AJ hadn't been an athlete since high school, and his muscle tone showed it. Most of his muscle was beginning to turn to flab, but for the most part his torso was firm. She kissed his shoulder and whispered, "Tell me again."  
  
Brushing a strand of Shannon's light brown hair out of her face, he said, "I slid a coin in the slot machine... and I won. I was on a high. Blackjack, poker, slots... After that first win, baby, I was unstoppable. I was a walking ATM..."  
  
"How much did you win?"  
  
AJ smiled. "You know how much."  
  
She slid her hands down his stomach, traveling lower. "How... much... money?"  
  
AJ drew out his words. "Two... Hundred..." He gasped as she began to stroke him slowly. "Thousand... Seven Hundred... and three dollars..."  
  
Shannon captured his lips with her own and threw her leg over his waist. She whispered, "Make love to me again..."  
  
AJ kissed his wife as she straddled him, trying to ignore the faint trembling at the back of his skull...  
  
---  
  
Several minutes before dawn broke, AJ woke to the stong smell of smoke in the hotel room. He sat up quickly, searching for the flames. Shannon was still draped across him, dead to the world for a few more hours.  
  
AJ swung his legs onto the floor and stood, shivering in the early morning coldness of the room. His once powerful legs shook as he walked from the bed to the bathroom. He flipped on the lightswitch and looked at himself in the mirror. For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn his eyes were blood red. He blinked, rubbing his face and looking again. His eyes were normal.   
  
It was when he turned the lights off that it happened.  
  
A headache shot through the back of his skull, running the length of his spine before clutching his skull with it's painful fingers. He moaned and dropped to his knees. The pain was intense, but fleeting; like an ice cream headache. He blinked several more times, then found his bearings and stood. He climbed back in bed, kissed his wife's forehead, and pulled the blankets tightly around his nude form.   
  
When the alarm clock he had brought from home rang two hours later, he was still trying to fall asleep...  



	2. Madness

  
  
Chapter Two  
  
  
Darien entered the Keep, staring at his tattoo. It had been three days since his little incident in the Chinese restaurant and the snake hadn't changed. In fact, he was supposed to be getting a shot this morning... but if the monitor was right...  
  
Claire looked up from her desk and smiled. "Morning, Darien. I have just one thing to do and we'll get right to your shot..."  
  
Darien dropped into the chair. "I don't think I need it, Keepy."  
  
"Come on, Darien. It's been five days since your last shot. You need a refill."  
  
He shook his head. "I don't think I do. Check it out." He pulled down his watch and held his arm up.  
  
"That's impossible. This is where it was two days ago."  
  
"Three days, actually. It stopped."  
  
"What do you mean it stopped? It can't stop. It's impossible to stop."  
  
"It stopped. What can I say?"  
  
Claire chewed her lower lip. "I have to run some tests."  
  
---  
  
AJ sat on the closed toilet lid in the bathroom of the casino. His foot nervously shook against the tile. It had been three days. Only three days...  
  
Three days ago, they had been rich. $200,782 profit. Why, WHY hadn't they cut their losses and headed home? Why couldn't they have been happy with what they had?   
  
72 measly hours had passed. And now they were dead broke. All of the two hundred thou... all of their savings... he had even lost the station wagon. If he had the money for a bullet he would have put it in his skull.   
  
Finally he stood, deciding he would have to face real life eventually. He exited the stall and turned on the faucet at the sink, running his hands underneath the warm water.   
  
The door to the bathroom opened and a tall, light-skinned black man entered. His hair was long and light brown, standing up on it's end like he'd just received a shock. His eyes were ice-water blue, standing out against the darkened hue of his skin. He was wearing a dark jacket over a darker T-shirt. He had an ID tag on the collar, but AJ couldn't make it out. He walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. He turned and glanced at AJ. "How's it goin', man?"  
  
AJ swallowed and nodded. "Good." He splashed a handful of water on his face, then tried to look at the man's ID again.   
  
The man saw it and saved him the trouble. "Warrick Brown. I'm a criminalist." He ran a handful of water over his own face. He had been called on a case involving a gambler found shot to death in a glass elevator.   
  
He had determined it to be a mob killing based on the wounds (five gunshots to the torso, all around the ten-ring) as well as the single gunshot wound right between the eyes. The forehead wound was the worst, for the hit man had stuck a quarter inside of it as a message. The message was "Call someone who cares." Warrick had discovered that the man owed money to the mob. A lot of money. It was a problem Warrick was familiar with; he'd fought - and was still fighting - a gambling problem of his own.  
  
AJ sighed and looked in the mirror. "How does it get this bad? Why does gambling do this to you?"  
  
Warrick smiled humorlessly. "I don't know, man. If I had an answer, I'd be on the talk show circuits making millions."  
  
AJ sighed, "Two hundred thousand... in my hands and I let it go." He shook his head and left the bathroom.  
  
---  
  
The book hovered in mid-air, about chest high. As the Keeper and Hobbes watched through the glass partition, the book paced from one end of the room to the other, then turned. Every once in a while, a page turned. Hobbes frowned. "What's he readin'?"  
  
Claire looked at the cover. "Pop Goes The Weasel. James Patterson."  
  
"Hmm. Good author." He paused, then asked, "How long's it been?"  
  
"Well... twenty-eight minutes in the padded room, plus the five days since his last shot. If the madness is in his system, he'll be a raving madman in a few minutes."  
  
"How could he get over it? I mean, just like that?"  
  
"I'm not sure. We haven't had any problems with him since Arnaud administered the Stage five counteragent. Perhaps it had a..."  
  
The door opened, admitting Eberts. "The Official would like to know the progress of the experiment."  
  
The door opened again and the Official entered. "I want to know the progress of the experiment."  
  
Claire sighed. "One more minute and we'll pass the half-hour mark."  
  
Hobbes shook his head. "Seems kinda weird, boss, you know? I don't like this. I'm getting bad karma from this one."  
  
The Official nodded but said nothing, watching the book as it paced. Claire finally hit the button of the stopwatch. "Darien has now been quicksilvered for thirty minutes, twenty seconds. Plus, the five days before this." She spoke into a microphone so Darien could hear her. "You can unquicksilver now."  
  
Darien flaked and appeared in the room, marking his place in the book and tossing it onto the bed. He held his arms out in an "I-told-you-so" gesture. He walked up to the mirror and opened his eyes as wide as possible, putting his face close to the mirror. "See any red?"  
  
Claire checked her instruments. "Quicksilver is still in his system. It's there it's just not... affecting him in any way. I don't understand it."  
  
Hobbes asked, "What about the, uh... Arnaud thing?"  
  
Claire sighed. "The last time Darien went quicksilver mad, he reached all the way to Level 5 madness. Arnaud administered a new kind of counteragent which was more potent than ours. I'm thinking it may have extended the time frame."  
  
The Official grimaced. "Or eliminated it."  
  
Hobbes looked at his boss. "I don't like that look, chief. This is a good thing... right?"  
  
"No, Hobbes... without the madness, he has no reason for counteragent. And we just lost our ace in the hole. We'll have to find another way to keep him from running."  
  
With that, the fat man and Eberts turned and walked from the room. Claire and Hobbes looked at each other, then looked at Darien through the glass. Darien, oblivious as to what had just happened, was once again reading his Patterson novel.  
  
---  
  
AJ turned off the lights in the bathroom, sighing deeply. Shannon was curled in a ball on her side of the bed, gently sobbing. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his mind reeling. He gently placed a hand on Shannon's shoulder. "Shh... it'll be all right, hon..."  
  
She continued to quietly sob.  
  
AJ groaned and rubbed his neck. His headache from a few days ago had returned with a vengeance. In the bathroom, he had noticed his eyes were bloodshot. 'Great,' he thought. 'Now I'm getting sick when we're broke.'  
  
Shannon coughed, then wiped away a tear. AJ turned sideway so that he could see her. "Shannon, stop crying. Please?"  
  
She ignored him.  
  
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Shannon. Did you hear me? I said to stop. I told you to shut up." He grit his teeth as she continued to cry. "Shannon... Shut. UP!" He flipped her onto her back so that he could see her face. He punched her - hard - causing her head to flop to the side. Her crying ceased, only to return in a moment with a vengeance.   
  
"You... you hit me!"  
  
AJ pulled her across the bed and straddled her, pinning her against the mattress. He was grinding his teeth together now. "I told you to SHUT UP! STOP CRYING!" He punched her in the face twice, then began to pepper her torso with blows. She was screaming at him between sobs, asking him to stop. "You didn't stop when I said to! Why should I listen to YOU!"  
  
She noticed his eyes. They were completely red.  
  
"SHUT UP!" He punched her in the stomach, knocking the air out of her. He reached onto the night stand and brought his hand back with an alarm clock he had brought from home. Taking it with both hands, he raised it above his head. "SHUT..." he brought it down with the force of a PCP junkie. "...UP!!!"  
  
The alarm clock shattered Shannon Cross's skull, but AJ was far from finished....  
  
---  
  
AJ stepped into the casino bathroom nearly two hours later, his adrenaline racing and his brow covered with a thick sheen of sweat. He walked to the mirror, gazing at the reflection her saw there. His face had become that of a madman; sweaty, red and bug-eyed. The eyes scared him most of all. Bloodshot, bugged out... the eyes of a psychopathic killer.  
  
His gaze lowered to his blood-soaked pajamas. He stepped back, examining his hands and pants. Had he walked through the casino like this? Had people seen him? His heart began to race at the thought of being found out. They would know what he had become and they would stop him. Most definitely they would stop him.  
  
A toilet flushed and he turned. One of the stall doors opened and a man stepped out, buckling his belt. He looked up in time to see the shape of AJ Cross flying towards him, his face contorted in a primal yell.  
  
---  
  
Darien entered the Keep. "What's up, Doctor Keepy?"  
  
Without looking up, she said, "We need to give you a phsyical."  
  
"Again? I just had one..."  
  
"Precisely. That was before the Stage 5 counteragent was administered."  
  
Darien sat in his chair. "You think this has something to do with the stuff Arnaud injected me with?"  
  
"Possibly."  
  
Darien sighed and pulled off his shirt. "Okay... poke and prod your heart out."  
  
Claire cleared her throat. "A complete, physical, Darien."  
  
"What do you... oh..."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
As Claire went to lock the door to the Keep, she could have sworn she saw Darien blush.  
  
---  
  
Warrick Brown snapped off another photo and lowered the camera. "How many people d'ya think were involved?"   
  
His question was directed to Sara Sidle, the petite brunette standing on the opposite side of the room. She was kneeling next to the closet, examining a piece of electronic that may have been a murder weapon. She stood and said, "Judging from the front desk, there were two people registered here. This woman and her husband."  
  
"So where's the hubby," Warrick asked, retorically.  
  
Sara smirked. "Answer that, we have a suspect."  
  
Warrick sighed and snapped a picture of the corpse. It was a brutal killing. The woman's head had been bashed completely in; all that was left was a grotesque stain on the pillow. Warrick stood next to the bed and looked down at the body. "She was stabbed... I count five times."  
  
"With what? Have we seen anything the killer could've used?"  
  
Warrick glanced around the room. "That." He pointed. On the wall, Sara saw the round frame where a mirror had once been. One shard still remained in the frame. Warrick looked at the floor. "Shards imbedded in the carpet. Guy broke the mirror and stabbed this woman with the pieces."  
  
"What makes you think it was a guy?"  
  
"Hunch."  
  
"Care to make a wager? You have fifty-fifty odds."  
  
Warrick ignored her. The gambling jokes were getting old; he had HAD a problem with gambling. Had being the operative word in this situation. The bathroom opened and a dark-haired man exited, holding a cotton swab. The tip was bright red. "Found blood in the bathtub drain."  
  
Sara took the swab and said, "Thanks, Nick..."   
  
Nick Stokes had only recently been promoted to the rank of CS3, but he was quickly earning his keep. He looked at the body, then said, "I talked to the guy at the front desk and a couple of pit bosses. Want to hear my theory?"  
  
Warrick sighed. "Go ahead." Nick and his theories....  
  
"Okay, according to the casino, this guy and his wife were rolling in it four days ago. Seems the husband went on a winning streak through the casino and ended up winning over two hundred thou."  
  
Warrick let loose a low whistle.  
  
"Exactly. Last night... they blow it all when the wife decides she'll try her hand at the casinos. She tries blackjack, roulette, slots... everything you can think of and looses every time. Pretty soon, she goes through their entire savings in one night."  
  
Sara's eyes widened. "That's impossible."  
  
Warrick shook his head slowly. "Believe me, Sara. Unless you've sat down at that table and felt what the rush does to you... you don't know what a gambling binge is like."  
  
Nick nodded. "Exactly. This lady didn't know how much they were down until she reached into the coffer to find nothing but sand. The hubby tried to help her, win back some cash... made a bad move. He put the station wagon up in a high-stakes poker game."  
  
Warrick closed his eyes. "Don't tell me, do NOT tell me..."  
  
"Everything. These people were stranded here." Nick looked at the blue corpse on the bed. "You need to hear the rest of my theory?"  
  
He didn't have to. Warrick said, "Husband blamed his wife for their situation, lost control, brained her with something."  
  
Sara held up a digital clock face. "Alarm. Probably brought from home."  
  
Warrick shrugged. "Picks up the alarm clock and takes his rage out on her skull."  
  
Sara shook her head. "I don't know. I mean, the rage would account for it... but after he got all that aggression out by pounding her head into mulch, why did he break the mirror, grab a shard and begin stabbing her? The adrenaline must've slowed by that time. He had to have realized what he was doing."  
  
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he didn't lose control in the first place. Maybe it was premeditated."  
  
Warrick's face contorted in confusion. "A man sits up in bed, watching his wife sleep, and plans to beat her to death? What kind of person does that?"  
  
Nick shrugged and said, bluntly, "A sociopath."  
  
Warrick groaned. "Aw, man. I'm sick of sociopaths... why can't we get a regular accidental shooting?"  
  
Sara smirked. "Come on... Those aren't any fun."  
  
Warrick chuckled. "The only thing YOU find fun are bones."  
  
Sara winked. "You got that right."  
  
Warrick almost blushed. 


	3. Prescient Dreams

  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
Darien slid his pants back up and asked, "Was that really necessary?"  
  
Claire removed her rubber gloves. "I needed to do a full physical to determine how much of your system had been affected by the Stage 5 counteragent. Also, I needed to find out if the quicksilver was still present in your system."  
  
"But did I really have to be naked for the exam?"  
  
Claire cocked an eyebrow, but didn't answer.   
  
Darien sighed. "Okay... So what'd you find?"  
  
"Arnaud's counteragent is no longer in your system. Quicksilver, however, is. For all intents and purposes, you should be going mad right now. In fact, you should be around stage 4 already."  
  
"So? Any idea why I'm not?"  
  
"Not one. I have a theory, however. I'll give you a shot of regular counteragent, just to be certain. We'll see if the madness returns."  
  
"If it doesn't? I mean... what if I've really kicked this thing?"  
  
Claire raised a syringe. "Then we may have a problem. Roll up your sleeve."  
  
---  
  
It was the kind of bar that respectable people never frequented; the entire place smelled of blood, urine and sweat. Smoke hung thickly overhead and the blare of a baseball game came in over the busted radio set up behind the bar. A man was passed out in the corner booth, his wallet and money long gone. Red and blue lights flashed in the window every few minutes, on the way to yet another homicide.  
  
AJ Cross sat in the bar, silently sipping his whiskey. Before this trip, he would never have been caught dead in a place like this; he would have been shocked and horrified that something like this place still existed. But he wasn't the same as he had been before setting foot in Las Vegas. Hell, before his trip, he had never touched alcohol. Never wanted to. Of course, before this trip he had never wanted to bash his wife to death with an alarm clock, either. He groaned, rubbing the inside of his right arm. It felt like he had just been poked by a needle. He ignored the pain and returned his attention to the mirror across the bar.  
  
His eyes weren't just bloodshot. They were red. One hundred percent RED. He had never seen eyes this color, except on white rats. White rats in labs on the Discovery Channel always had red eyes. He sighed and swallowed the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass down on the bar. "Another," he barked.  
  
"Don't you think you've had enough, buddy?"  
  
AJ glared at the man with his red eyes. "Another."  
  
The bartender hesitated for a moment, then pulled a bottle of whiskey from beneath the counter. "Take it. Take it and get out of my bar."  
  
AJ grabbed the bottle and said, "Fine. Don't need to be at a bar to drink." He spit on the bartender and kicked a stool as he stumbled out the door. As he hit the sidewalk, pain spiked through the back of his skull, dropping him to his knees. It was almost as bad as when it had first started...  
  
AJ slapped the back of his neck, as if the pain were a simple mosquito he could swat. He was curled in the fetal position, clutching the whiskey bottle as if it were a life preserver, when the spasms finally seceded. He gasped, looking at his hands. He stumbled to his feet and gazed at himself in the window of the bar he had just exited.  
  
His eyes were still blood red. Rubbing the spot on his arm where he'd felt the pinprick. Whatever someone had tried to do... it hadn't worked. He stumbled back to his feet and continued down the sidewalk.  
  
---  
  
Darien Fawkes collapsed into his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow. The day had been filled with experiments, poking, proding, examinations, quicksilver this and quicksilver that. Non-stop, all day. He hadn't been worked that hard since... well, since those first days back at Kevin's lab.  
  
But his sleep was far from restful.  
  
The first dream was of a dark hotel room. He could see flashing neon through the open window. Vegas. The Strip. He slowly turned in the room. Two faceless spectres moved slowly through the shadows; their faces hidden from him. He was moving slowly, almost painfully, towards the bed. He could see a shape on it, but couldn't connect the form to the two people still milling around in the darkness.  
  
As he approached the bed, he became aware of a third shadow joining the first pair. They seemed oblivious of his presence. Darien looked away from the ghosts and looked at the woman on the bed. She was dead, beyond a doubt.   
  
He recoiled, backing up and hitting the wall. Voices filled his head; voices of strangers that seemed oddly familiar to him. A man's deep voice said, "...lost control... takes his rage out..."  
  
A soft woman's voice came next. "...rage...aggression...  
  
A second man's voice echoed through Darien's head when he said, "...sociopath..."  
  
A face filled Darien's vision. The man's face was contorted with hate, anger and aggression. His eyes were red with quicksilver madness. The face began to slowly recede until Darien could see the man's entire body. His hands and clothing were covered with blood. The man roared and launched himself at Darien, his hands transforming into syringes filled with counter-agent.  
  
As Darien sidestepped the sociopath, he bumped into someone else. Spinning around, he saw the Apothecary. The ancient Chinese man smiled a toothy smile and said, "The demon has left you... Be free and worry no more..."  
  
Darien woke drenched with sweat. His t-shirt clung to his lean frame and his sheets were nearly soaked. The blankets had already been kicked off the bed. Looking at the clock, Darien saw that he was due in the Keep in thirty minutes. He climbed out of bed, feeling like he hadn't slept a wink.  
  
He flipped on the TV as he went, listening to the news. "...a grotesque murder in a Las Vegas hotel room this morning. Police criminalists are currently going over the scene and have determined this to be the work of a sociopath. For clarification, we go to the head of Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation, Gil Grissom."  
  
Darien watched as the camera cut to a middle-aged man whose black hair was beginning to gray. He had a kind face, but his eyes looked like they had seen far too much blood... too much pain. A graphic along the bottom of the screen read, 'Gil Grissom, criminalist'.   
  
"A sociopath could be any number of things. The dictionary simply describes the sociopath as a psychopath with severe antisocial behavior. This is a drastic understatement... sociopaths recognize the difference between right and wrong but they just don't care. They are incredibly dangerous because they rarely care whether they live or die..."  
  
Darien realized what the criminalist was describing. "Quicksilver madness... Someone else has it..."  
  
---  
  
Claire shined the light in his eyes, then asked, "So? They're just dreams, Darien."  
  
"No... these aren't just dreams. The last time, I dreamt about killing Hobbes and I almost went mad and killed him. You have to admit, that wasn't a coincidence."  
  
Hobbes, who was tapping on the glass of the piranha tank, spoke up. "That's true, Keepy. He did try to strangle me."  
  
"Prescient dreams? Come on, you can't be serious."  
  
"Dead serious, Claire. I saw the news report of that murder in Las Vegas. Someone out there has... I dunno... inherited my madness."  
  
"What murder?"  
  
Hobbes answered, "Guy beat his wife's brains in with an alarm clock. Very gruesome."  
  
Claire sighed and returned to the topic. "So what if this man DOES have your madness? Do you want it back, is that it?"  
  
"I don't WANT it back... but better me than some poor shmuck that has no idea what's going on. I have things that other people don't have. Like you."  
  
Claire almost blushed, then said, "How do you suggest we get the madness back into you?"  
  
"I... We go back to the Chinese guy. The one who started all of this. There has to be some kind of reversal process."  
  
Claire sighed. "I suppose it couldn't hurt. I'll check with the Official and..."  
  
"No," Darien said, grabbing her wrist. "He can't know about this. Not until we find out if it IS reversable."  
  
Claire sighed.  
  
---  
  
Eberts lowered the file. "It is official now, sir. The Keeper has presented the findings from her physical examination of Mr. Fawkes."  
  
The office was darkened, lit only by the green lamp on Charlie Borden's desk. The fat man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Tell me."  
  
"The quicksilver madness which once made it possible to control Mr. Fawkes is gone. It is no longer an issue."  
  
"Arnaud's Stage five counteragent?"  
  
"The Keeper doesn't believe so. According to Mr.Fawkes, the madness was removed by a Chinese apothecary. He has taken the Keeper and Mr. Hobbes to attempt to find this man and reverse what has been done."  
  
The Official was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "Do we still have the tracking device?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The Official nodded. "Fawkes is dangerous and now there's a chance we can't use counteragent to control him. I want the tracking device implanted immediately."  
  
"How... sir?"  
  
"Give the hypo to the Keeper. She can make him think it's routine; he'll never know."  
  
"Very good, sir."  
  
---  
  
Darien looked at the pimple-faced cashier at the Chinese restaurant. "What do you MEAN he's not here? I want to see him NOW."  
  
"Dude, I don't know what you're talking about. We don't have anyone named Apa Drew Carey."  
  
"Apothecary," Darien corrected. "And he was here four days ago. Where'd he go?"  
  
"Maybe back into your head, where he came from. I'm tellin' you, I don't know nothing about this Apopadingle guy."  
  
Darien shoved past the clerk and headed towards the back of the restaurant with Claire in tow. When several waiters headed in their direction, Hobbes flashed his badge and rested his hand on the butt of his revolver. "Federal agents, kiddoes. Just step back and let us work, all right?"  
  
Darien burst into the kitchen. As he entered, a dark-haired kid looked up from the sink and immediately ducked his head again. "You! You were here!"  
  
The kid made a break for it, but Darien side-stepped a stove and grabbed him by the collar. The kid began spewing curses in Chinese, kicking and punching at the air in a futile attempt to escape. Darien turned the kid around. "Where is he? Where's the old Chinese man that brought me through here the other night?"  
  
The kid grimaced and said something in Chinese.  
  
"Do you speak English? Uh... English? Speaka de Englash?"  
  
Hobbes stepped forward and spoke in fluent, elegant Chinese to the boy. The boy looked at Hobbes, then glared at Darien before responding with a short sentence.  
  
Hobbes said, "The kid doesn't know about an apothecary. Or so he says."  
  
Darien tightened his grip. "Ask him again. This time make sure he sees your gun."  
  
Hobbes sighed and spoke again, opening his jacket to show the revolver. The kid's eyes widened and he began speaking quickly. Hobbes translated. "The boy said he went to Vegas to wait." In Chinese, he asked what for. When he got the response, he said, "Wait for the second one, whatever that means."  
  
Darien nodded. "The second one to get the madness." He released the boy and turned, heading out of the kitchen. Claire frowned. "Where are we going?"  
  
"Vegas."  



	4. Crime Scene, Investigated

  
  
  
Chapter 4  
  
  
Darien stood before the Official's desk and said, "So? We have a deal?"  
  
"You want to go to Las Vegas... find this person who YOU claim stole your quicksilver madness... and get it back? Why on earth for?"  
  
"Granted, sir... I'm the first who would say good riddance, but... according to the news, this guy has already killed one person. Because of me. If anyone else died, I couldn't live with myself. I'm willing to take the madness back and wait for the Keeper to find a way around it."  
  
Eberts said, "Way to take one for the team."  
  
Everyone in the room turned their attention on the hacker and he looked down at the desk, embarrassed.   
  
The Official sighed. "Fine. I'll grant you one week leave and that's IT. You're back here seven days from now."  
  
Darien smiled. "You got it, fat man. We won't let you down."  
  
As Darien turned to leave, Hobbes leaned forward and asked, "I don't suppose the Agency could pop for a coupla bucks to use in the casino... you know, seeing as we'll have to fit in and all." The Official glared at him. "Didn't think so. Wait up, Fawkes!" He jogged out.  
  
As Claire was closing the door, the Official said, "Claire! One moment, please." She returned and stood before him. Eberts opened the drawer and withdrew a small hypo.   
  
"What is that?"  
  
"A tracker. We want you to inject Fawkes with it under the guise of... I don't know. Make something up."  
  
"A tracker? For what?"  
  
Eberts clarified, "To track."  
  
"Shut up, Eberts," The Official grumbled. "We don't want Darien running... just in case he DOESN'T succeed in Vegas. And, after that little incident with Arnaud a few weeks ago..."  
  
"I don't believe you! He didn't HAVE to ask permission, you know. He could have just as easily jumped a plane without a word."  
  
"I understand. Which is why we need the tracker."  
  
Claire grabbed the hypo and said, "You really irritate me sometimes." She turned and stalked from the room.  
  
---  
  
At the airport, Darien thumbed through an issue of Entertainment Weekly. "Wow... these guys are HARSH in their reviews."  
  
Hobbes looked at the cover and said, "Entertainment Weekly... Those guys wouldn't know a 'bargain basement X-Files' if it crawled into their underwear and chewed up their Froot-of-the-Looms."  
  
Claire stood next to the gate that was loading passengers to Vegas. She spotted an unattended bag and sat down next to it, sliding the hypo from her pocket. Glancing around to make sure no one saw her, she injected the handle with the tracker and tossed the hypo in the garbage. She had a wide smile on her face when she rejoined Darien and Hobbes.  
  
---  
  
Eberts looked at the tracking system. "It's working. She injected him."  
  
The Official looked at the screen. "Excellent... excellent... wait. Why is he being loaded into the cargo hold?"  
  
Eberts shrugged. "We did pay for discount tickets..."  
  
---  
  
Gil Grissom looked up at Detective Jim Brass entered the lab. Brass was always a welcome face around here. Up until a few months ago, he had been the head of the CSI, but circumstances had led to him being transferred to Homicide and leaving Gil with the unwanted job of CSI head.  
  
Gil pushed aside the notes he'd been studying for fingerprints. "What's up, Jim?"  
  
Brass sighed. "That hotel murder you guys are investigating? We just got a call from the security for the casino that's attached. They just found a guy they think was murdered around the same time."  
  
"Just now? They JUST found him?"  
  
"His body was crammed into an air vent. Maintenance found him when they went to investigate."  
  
"An air vent? One of those big ones?"  
  
"Semi-big... but it's not pretty, Griss. Whoever did this..."  
  
"We'll catch him, Brass. Believe me."  
  
---  
  
Darien dropped his bags in front of the front desk of the hotel. "Um, I think you have a room reserved for me? Darien Fawkes?"  
  
"Ah, yes, Mr. Fawkes. Room 112." Darien took the key and stepped aside for Claire and Hobbes to get their keys. Before either could say a word, the clerk smiled and said, "Ah, and you must be Mr. and Mrs. Hobbes. You're in Room 113."  
  
Claire's jaw dropped, but Hobbes just snickered. "Thank you, miss. Come along, DEAR." He took Claire's arm and dragged her away from the desk.  
  
While they waited for the elevator to arrive, Claire muttered, "I knew the fat man was cheap but making us share a room... Why not you and Darien?"  
  
Darien chuckled, "Cause this is funnier."  
  
The elevator arrived and they stepped in. The car was only occupied by one other person; a chubby man reading a newspaper. Claire sighed. "I suppose it won't be HORRIBLE. We have slept in the same room before."  
  
Darien raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, it's nothing like that... in Santa Ruego. As I remember, he couldn't sleep for the noise you were producing," she said, poking Darien in the ribs. The elevator dinged and they stepped off, leaving the newspaper man alone.  
  
As the doors closed, AJ Cross look up. Something about those three... something gave him a very bad feeling deep in his gut. He pulled off his glasses, squinting at his reflection in them. He could see that his eyes were still red. Replacing the glasses, he turned the page in the newspaper and continued pretending to read.  
  
The elevator doors opened again and he glanced up. A withered old Chinese man entered the elevator, carrying a walking cane. Cross was prepared to ignore the man, just as he had the three people before, but the old man spoke up. "You are afflicted with a demon."  
  
Cross looked up. "What the hell do you know about it?"  
  
"I can free you. All you must do is destroy the man who is causing this madness in you."  
  
---  
  
Catherine Willows stood next to the stall while Nick snapped pictures of the bloody air vent. She looked at the walls in disgust. "I cannot believe men. How could you possibly spend any amount of time in here?"  
  
"I try not to," Nick said. "Public restrooms are the devil's playground. Germ's playground, at least..."  
  
Catherine sighed. "So. We have anything?"  
  
"Are you kidding? This guy was wedged in here so tight his body was practically turned to mush. I don't see how we're going to get anything."  
  
Warrick entered the bathroom and said, "Just got a call from Sara. She said the fingerprints are back from the vent cover."  
  
Catherine sighed. "Clean?"  
  
"Nope. Covered. They got four perfect prints that match the husband of the first vic."  
  
Nick stood. "He didn't even bother to wipe off his fingerprints? He wants to get caught."  
  
Warrick nodded slowly.  
  
---  
  
Darien and Hobbes entered Gil Grissom's office, badges out. Gil sighed. "What can I do for a couple of federal agents?"  
  
"Tell us about Shannon Cross," Hobbes said. He had gotten the facts during the short flight; Darien was impressed with his partner's ability to retain facts.  
  
"Shannon Cross was the victim of an extremely violent homicide. Right now, her husband has been named as a suspect and Homicide detectives are searching for him." He held his palms up and shrugged. "My part in this case is over."  
  
The door opened and a pretty brunette entered. "We got the fingerprints from the air vent back, Griss." She put the file down on the desk and turned to look at the guests. She looked Darien up and down, then asked, "Who're these guys?"  
  
Grissom picked up the file and began reading it, saying, "Oh, uh... federal agents, Sara Sidle. Sara Sidle, federal agents."  
  
"I'm Darien. Darien Fawkes. This is my partner, Robert Hobbes." He flashed the badge, mostly to impress her.  
  
"Department of Fish and Game?"  
  
"You, uh... you read that quickly?"  
  
She winked and smiled, "I'm a CSI, Mr. Fawkesy. I notice everything."  
  
She walked out, giving him another once-over before leaving. Hobbes smirked and chuckled. "You better watch out, buddy. That one has a thing for ya."  
  
"That wouldn't exactly be a bad thing, you know... did you see her?"  
  
Grissom looked up. "Is there a reason you're still in here? I do have other cases to work on."  
  
Darien apologized and said, "We'll, uh... just go. Thanks for your help, Mr. Grissom."  
  
They were almost to the door when Grissom caught up with them. "Wait!" They turned. "Cross' fingerprints showed up at the scene of another homicide. Want to tag along?"  
  
---  
  
Sara and Grissom led Fawkes and Hobbes into the bathroom of the casino where Warrick and Willows were dusting for prints on the stall doors. Warrick looked up and saw the two strangers. "Who're these two?"  
  
Grissom introduced them all and knelt next to the air vent. "What do we have?"  
  
"Nothing much. Fingerprints all over the vent, fingerprints on the sink... security cameras have him walking through the casino with blood covering his pajamas. He exited wearing what I assume were the clothes this guy died for."  
  
Grissom stood. "No one noticed a blood-covered man walking around?"  
  
Warrick muttered, "Gambling blackout. I'm surprised one guy noticed he had to take a leak."  
  
Catherine explained, "Some chronic gamblers," she tried not to look at Warrick, "have problems with noticing how much time they've spent gambling. People have blacked out when their bladders erupt."  
  
Darien's eyebrows rose. "Whoa..."  
  
Grissom glanced in the federal agent's direction and continued. "Okay. This guy doesn't mind getting caught. I think he WANTS to get caught. Sara, did you get his baggage from his room?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Could you bring it down here? I want to check something out."  
  
She nodded and headed to the door, but Grissom called her back. "Here, take a walkie-talkie."  
  
Sara frowned. "Why?"  
  
"There's a psycho out there... I have a bad feeling about this case."  
  
---  
  
Sara pressed the elevator button for the fourth time, then glanced at the stairwell. Deciding to leave the elevator, she headed for the stairs and opened the door.  
  
On the third floor landing, AJ Cross was standing with a machete, his face covered by a baseball cap pulled low.  
  
He was waiting for her.  



	5. Ambush in the Stairwell

  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
  
Sara turned the corner to the third floor landing and had already taken two steps when she saw the man standing in the corner. She immediately stopped where she was and reached for the walkie-talkie Grissom had given her. All she managed to get out was, "Gri--" before the madman had reached her, knocking the device from her hands. He slammed his considerable weight into her, knocking her into the wall. He slipped the machete out from beneath his sweatshirt. "You think you're a smart bitch, don't ya? I'll show you smart..."  
  
---  
  
Grissom's walkie-talkie crackled and a strained 'gri' was transmitted. Gil glanced down at it, then pulled it off his belt. "Sara? You okay?" No answer. "Damn." He started to stand, but Darien stopped him.  
  
"I can check it out for ya... Stay here and uh... do what you're doing."  
  
As Gil nodded and dropped back onto one knee, Darien nodded at Hobbes and slipped outside. The second he pulled the door open, he quicksilvered, hoping no one would notice.   
  
No one did. At least, no one said anything. He headed for the elevators. He pressed the button, but something began to gnaw at him. It was a feeling he had once gotten when he was a cat burglar. The sixth sense that told him that someone was home; that someone was awake.  
  
He looked at the door to the stairs and immediately left the bank of elevators. He opened the door quietly and stepped in. His vision was gray-tinted, as it always was when he was invisible. Quietly, he moved up the stairs towards the whispering above him.  
  
---  
  
Sara whimpered as the cool blade was pressed against the soft flesh of her throat. A tear streaked down her cheek.  
  
Cross liked that. He smirked and said, "I made the pretty lady cry... I say you on the news, pretty lady. You were with that man, what's his name... Gilllll..." He stretched the name out until it became a groan. He pressed his overweight body against hers, reminding her that she was trapped.  
  
He removed his sunglasses with his free hand, widening his eyes to show her how blood-red they were. "You see? I'm not like other people. There's no one on earth quite like me."  
  
Sara tried not to show her fear; put on a strong face... but the red eyes almost forced her to scream. She squirmed against him, but he pressed the blade against her throat again. "I will slit your beautiful neck, you cop bitch... Try me. I bashed my wife's head in and I loved her... what will stop me from doing worse to you?"  
  
Sara muttered a prayer and, miraculously, it immediately came through. AJ Cross' body was suddenly gone. When she opened her eyes, she saw him slam into the opposite wall, his eyes wide with shock. He opened his mouth to scream, but his head suddenly jerked to the right. Then the left. Then back into the wall, connecting with a hollow "THUNK!" Cross spit, swinging at his attacker. "The old man told me about you... said that all I had to do was kill you and this would be over..."  
  
Sara frowned, thinking he was talking to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but was surprised when she heard a man's voice answer.  
  
"Kill me, huh? Get in line." Cross was once again thrown back against the wall, blood streaming down his face. Gripping the machete tightly, he swung in a wide arch. Sara was surprised to see a line of blood appear in thin air.  
  
Cross kicked at the line of blood and jogged up the stairs. He flung open the third floor door and ducked through. The walkie-talkie rose from it's position on the ground and the disembodied voice said, "Hobbes! The killer is on the third floor! Repeat, AJ Cross is IN THE BUILDING!"  
  
Sara stuck a hand out, searching for her savior. "Fawkesy?"  
  
Silver flaked in front of her and the government agent appeared. "How'd you know it was me," he asked, nursing the knife wound Cross had cut across his chest.  
  
"The voice was a dead giveaway... Thank you."  
  
"No problem... part of the job." He looked at his bloodied hand and said, "What I need now is some first aid."  
  
Sara smiled weakly and said, "I'll take care of ya. Come on."  
  
As she led him down the stairs, she shoved the fear and anger that had momentarily gripped every nerve in her terrified body deep inside of herself. She had gotten good at it...  
  
---  
  
Hobbes led Warrick into the lobby. Since the investigator didn't have a weapon, Hobbes was the only armed person there. He headed to a pit boss and said, "We're looking for a suspect in a double-murder. Around 5'7, thinning brown hair... may be wearing dark sunglasses."  
  
Warrick frowned at the stairs and elevators. "God... I hope Sara's okay..."  
  
Hobbes didn't answer, but felt the same way about Fawkes.  
  
The elevator doors dinged and slid open. The car was empty. Hobbes ran over and positioned himself to the right of the door. Glancing inside, he said, "Step out, Cross... NOW!"  
  
No response.  
  
Warrick got on the left side, peering in as far as he could. He shook his head; nothing. Hobbes stepped into the car and looked around. Empty. Why would an empty car come to the lobby? Before he could think of the answer, the doors slid closed too fast for him to respond. He immediately pushed the button for the second floor and waited for the elevator to stop. He had been duped.  
  
---  
  
Warrick's head turned as the second elevator opened. He took one step towards the door... when Cross stepped out, swinging his machete. He caught Warrick's right arm, drawing blood. The killer adjusted his glasses and made a run for the door of the casino.  
  
As Warrick screamed at security, some lucky bastard in the casino hit the jackpot. People began screaming, bells rang, chimes jingled, lights flashed. People from all over the casino began flocking towards the lucky machine. Security, lost in the confusion, held their guns and searched the crowd for their suspect. Nick Stokes stepped out of the bathroom where the investigation was underway and was slammed into by someone hoping to become friends with the newest millionaire in town.  
  
Security reached Warrick and one of the officers knelt next to him. "Are you all right, sir?"  
  
"No, I'm not," Warrick snapped. "The killer was HERE. He got past us..."  
  
The elevator doors opened and Hobbes stepped out. He surveyed the scene and lowered his gun. He groaned, "Aw, crap."  
  
---  
  
Sara and Darien exited the stairwell to see the tail end of the confusion. Darien noticed her hand tensing on his. Looking at the small woman, seeing the fear on her face, he realized how much the altercation had frightened her.  
  
He squeezed her hand and said, "Let's see what's going on." He led her across the lobby to where Hobbes and Warrick were talking to a security guard.   
  
Hobbes was doing his best not to scream at the rent-a-cop. "We tell you we're on alert for a MURDERER and you run around like chickens with your heads cut off!"  
  
The guard sighed. "Sir, we have responsibilities in the casino. If someone gets a jackpot, we have to be sure that no one will try to take the money or that there's no misunderstanding. A lot of people feel cheated if a machine they just left jackpots and that leads to altercations."  
  
Warrick put a hand on Hobbes' shoulder. "We understand. Thank you, officer."  
  
Hobbes sighed. "This sucks... we HAD him!" He caught sight of Darien. "Oh, my God. What happened?!"  
  
"The guy swiped me... don't worry, I'll be okay."  
  
Warrick was concerned for Sara. "How 'bout you?"  
  
She nodded her head weakly. "I'll be fine." All three men noticed how she was hugging herself, her hand shaking violently.  
  
Darien glanced at Hobbes, then said, "I'll, uh... I'll take you home to get some rest, okay?"  
  
Warrick nodded. "Good idea. I'll tell Griss what happened; I'll cover the rest of your shift."  
  
She squeezed Warrick's arm and thanked him as Darien led her out of the casino. She climbed into the passenger side of the van and waited patiently for Darien to walk around to the other side. Once he was seated and the van was started, she turned and said, "So? How'd you do it? How do you turn invisible?"  
  
Darien sighed.  
  
---  
  
AJ Cross entered the restaurant, noticing that they served steak and eggs for only a buck ninety-nine. He sat at the pre-determined table and order the meal, asking for the steak to be as rare as possible. As his water arrived, so did the old man. The Apothecary sat across from Cross, resting his hands atop his cane. "You found the man."  
  
"Yes," Cross muttered. "He got away though."  
  
"This is not good. For as long as he thrives, you will suffer. Soon you will go beyond the point of help."  
  
Cross' steak arrived, blood pooling around the plate. He surpassed the fork and knife and picked up the meat with his bare hands, biting savagely into it. After three large bites, half the steak was gone. Blood was oozing from the corner of his mouth and he licked the remaining juices from his fingers. Cross belched loudly and smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem. I'm starting to like the new me."  
  
The Apothecary reached across the table and removed Cross' sunglasses.  
  
His eyes were silver.  
  
---  
  
After stopping off at the hospital for a little first aid, Darien and Sara went back to her apartment. She unlocked the door, allowing Darien to enter. "I, uh... have some coffee. Orange juice, soda..."  
  
Darien was about to decline, but saw the fear in her eyes. She didn't want to be alone. Not just yet. "Sure... I could go for a soda."  
  
He entered the apartment and Sara told him to make himself at home, heading into the kitchen. Darien looked at the apartment, surprised at what he found. A police scanner sat on the coffee table, next to several books about real crimes. The bookshelf was stuffed with crime fiction; He noticed with a smile that she had a majority, if not all, of James Patterson's novels.   
  
He took down her copy of "Pop Goes the Weasel," remembering reading it when the Keeper was testing his quicksilver madness levels.  
  
Sara returned from the kitchen with a bottle of Dr. Pepper and Pepsi, holding them both up. "Which do you prefer?"  
  
Darien grabbed the Pepsi. "Thanks..."  
  
They sat on the sofa, idly discussing trivial things like movies, TV, music... Then they got around to quicksilver. Darien explained everything to her; Kevin, Arnaud, the Agency... he didn't mention the madness; he was afraid that she would link him with Cross and come to unsavory conclusions.  
  
By the time they finished talking, it was nearly two a.m. Darien groaned and said, "I guess it's back to, uh... the old hotel, huh?"  
  
Sara looked at her watch. "Look, um... it's not the most comfortable place in the world, but if you wanted to, the couch is free tonight."  
  
Darien tested the softness of the cushions and shrugged. "I've slept on worse," he stated, thinking of the awful cots they had in prison. Sara stood and pecked him on the cheek. "Thanks, Darien... for..."  
  
He smiled and said, "No problem, Sara."  
  
She smiled and headed to the bedroom.  
  
It was just before three-thirty that Darien was shaken from his slumber by loud, piercing screams coming from Sara's bedroom.  



	6. Bed-Hopping

  
  
  
Chapter 6  
  
  
  
Darien burst into Sara's bedroom, immediately looking at the window to see if the intruder had already gotten away. To his surprise, the window was shut tight.  
  
Sara was sitting up in bed, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her face was so white it looked like a beacon in the dark. Her black hair was mussed up from sleep and she was sweating bullets. She looked at Darien and said, "I'm sorry..."  
  
Darien sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand. "You okay?"  
  
She shook her head slowly. Quietly, she murmured, "I heard Kaye Shelton's screams..."  
  
Darien frowned. "Who?"  
  
She simply shook her head, not wanting to explain it out loud. A few months ago, a couple of hikers had found a dead woman in the hills, wrapped in a blanket. She was dead from a gunshot wound to the temple and had been for several days. The coroner revealed that she had been subjected to many years of abuse at the hands of her husband. Sara had nearly ripped the guy a new one, but had been held back by Grissom. Even when it looked like the husband would get off, Grissom had put in the extra hours to make sure he was arrested for the crime.  
  
Now... it was all coming back to her.  
  
Darien seemed to understand and pulled her close to him, giving her a tight hug. She finally pulled away and scooted to the side of the bed. Darien took her hint and laid down next to her. She embraced him again, resting her head on his shoulder. Quietly, she began to explain. "My mom... was hit by my dad a lot. Every night, it seemed. I would hear them at night and try to sleep through it, but... you can't sleep through that." She squeezed her eyes closed. "Eventually, he killed her. I... I was in the next room."   
  
Darien stroked her hair softly, listening.  
  
"Every time... every time we get a case about spousal abuse I can hear him hitting her... hear him calling for another beer..."  
  
Darien squeezed her tighter and whispered, "Just go to sleep, Sara. It'll all be okay."  
  
---  
  
Hobbes shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to cover his feet with the blanket Claire had pulled off the bed for him. He glanced at her, comfortable and fast asleep on the soft mattress, her head supported by TWO pillows... and he was stuck in the Barcalounger from Hell.  
  
He grumbled and shifted again, trying to find a sweet spot. What he found instead was a spring in a very inconvenient spot. He yelped, then looked over at Claire. She was still snoozing. Finally, he threw the blanket off and stood, tip-toeing across the room. He carefully peeled the blankets back, keeping an eye on Claire for her response. She showed no signs of waking.   
  
Carefully, he slid into the bed and pulled the covers up over him. He was asleep before he could congratulate himself on a job well done.  
  
---  
  
The lock snapped easily. Cross decided that the crowbar had barely been necessary; he could've snapped it with his bare hands.  
  
He opened the door, stepping inside the barely lit hallway and inhaling the stale stench that rose from the tile. He had never been in a morgue before; he hoped to never be in another one after this night.   
  
He walked carefully, purposefully, down the hallway until he found the door he was searching for. MORGUE. He pushed the door open, surprised to find it unlocked. A desk lamp provided the sole illumination. If Cross had been thinking clearly, he would have realized this was NOT a room that was closed for the night.  
  
He searched the drawers, all of which were marked with masking tape. He finally spotted "CROSS, SHANNON. BEATEN SEVERELY."  
  
He opened the drawer, sliding it out. The shape under the blankets was malformed, the result of losing a head. He touched the sheet, his fingers trembling. "Ah, God... What did I do?"  
  
Wrapping his wife tightly in the blanket, he lifted her off of the slab. He cradled her in his arms and turned... to see two men standing in the doorway. The taller one, wearing glasses, said, "Who are... You!"  
  
Cross rushed forward, slamming into the bespectacled man and knocking him to the floor. Cross managed to regain his footing and ran towards the door he'd broken in through.  
  
He burst into the arid Las Vegas night, holding his wife like a precious treasure. He looked both ways, as if he were lost, then ran straight ahead.  
  
---  
  
Inside the crime lab, Grissom pulled himself up. He grabbed the coroner, Dr. Robbins, and said, "Call Brass. Tell him Cross was here and he abducted his wife's body. Then get me Warrick and Sara."   
  
Robbins asked, "Where are you going?"  
  
Grissom was already halfway to the door. "After Cross!"  
  
---  
  
Sara jumped at the ringing phone, surprised to find a warm body snuggled against her in the bed. For a moment, she was afraid she had made yet another drunken mistake, but it slowly returned to her what had happened the night before.  
  
She kissed Darien on the cheek, laying her head down on his chest and trying to fall back to sleep. Unfortunately, the phone wasn't so forgiving.  
  
She picked it up and mumbled, "Hello?"  
  
"This is Dr. Robbins... the coroner?"  
  
"Uh-huh... yeah, what is it?" She checked the clock. Five a.m. She and Darien had been asleep only an hour and a half.  
  
"Cross was here. He took his wife's body. Grissom ran after him, but I don't think he'll have much luck."  
  
Sara was sitting straight up in bed now. "Cross was in the morgue? How?"  
  
"I'm not sure. The guy's a psychopath."  
  
Sara sighed and said, "Okay. I'll be there as soon as possible."  
  
As she hung up, she noticed Darien was awake and looking at her with guilty eyes. "There, uh... there's something I should probably tell you."  
  
---  
  
Claire woke, running her hands over the chest of someone who was sharing her bed. She mumbled in her half-awake state and curled up against the man's side. He had an arm wrapped around her, holding her against him.  
  
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at his face.  
  
"BOBBY!"  
  
Hobbes woke at her shout, shocked out of his slumber. Claire sat straight up, trying to cover herself with the blanket. "What are you DOING in my BED?!"  
  
"Our bed, Keepy... It's registered to both of us, remember?"  
  
She tried to gather more of the blanket, wrapping herself up in it. "That does NOT explain why you are in MY bed! We agreed you'd have the chair and I would..."  
  
"Have you tried to sleep in that chair? It's like..."  
  
"...have the bed! How dare you sneak into bed with me..."  
  
"...sleeping on rocks! I swear that..."  
  
"...First Darien breaks into my house, now you sneak into my bed..."  
  
"...I'm gonna have to get a chiropractor when we get home..."  
  
"...Do I have any privacy at ALL!"  
  
They both stopped talking at once, causing the room to drop into an uncomfortable and odd silence. Claire tucked a strand behind her ear, looking down at the blankets. "I'm sorry, Bobby."  
  
"No, I, uh... I shouldn't have gotten in bed with you. I shoulda just stuck it out..."  
  
"...no, don't be silly. If your back hurts, your back hurts. Besides, it's not like we DID anything..."  
  
"Right, right, we just cuddled a little."  
  
"Right."  
  
Silence again. This time, Bobby broke it. "Maybe we should go downstairs."  
  
"Yes! Downstairs."  
  
Neither moved. Hobbes said, "I'll cover my eyes so you can get dressed."  
  
---  
  
Dawn broke in Las Vegas, bringing with it nearly unbearable heat. AJ Cross sat in the closed movie theater, the blanket-covered corpse of his wife seated next to him. He nervously tapped his foot, thinking over his plans. He had so many plans, so many plots... So many people trying to pull him in so many directions.  
  
He had spent the better part of the morning pondering the ancient Chinese Apothecary. After several hours of thought, he finally concluded that the old man was a figment of his imagination and didn't deserve being listened to.  
  
Before breaking into the theater, he had managed to shatter the window of a pawn shop and get away with a gun and three bullets. It would be enough, he figured. He didn't plan on needing much ammo.  
  
The gun was now in the waistband of his pants, the ammo loaded. He was thinking clearly for the first time in almost a week, but he still didn't feel like himself. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the pawn shop mirror. His eyes were silver. The very thought sent chills down his spine. He tapped his foot on the floor and made a decision.  
  
He had lost control, killed his wife. He had gone mental and killed the man in the bathroom for his CLOTHES. He had tried to attack the girl in the stairwell - planned on raping her - but had been interrupted by someone that his clouded mind didn't even let him see.  
  
He had come to a conclusion; he was possessed by the Devil. When he had been a boy, his mother had forced him to go to church every week. As he had sat in the uncomfortable chair, wearing his uncomfortable little suit, in the unbearably hot foyer, listening to the preacher as he rambled on about Jesus, God, the Holy Trinity and the battle with Satan for our very souls.   
  
Now, all these years later, he had forgotten the lessons learned in Sunday school. He had gone astray and become a product of the secular world. He had gone away from God and the Church and the Devil had taken ahold of him.  
  
And now there was only one thing to do. Quietly, he gathered his wife and headed to the exit door he'd forced open several hours ago. Today was going to be a big day.  
  
---  
  
Gil looked up as the four people filed into the room. He recognized Darien and Hobbes from the day before, but the woman bringing up the rear with Sara was a stranger. Hobbes said, "Oh, uh... Claire Keeply, Gil Grissom."  
  
They shook hands. Gil got right to the point. "Cross has plans. Big plans, I'm assuming. Here's a trail of his crimes. After he left here, he took his dearly departed wife to a pawn shop. The owner reported only one gun was missing; a .45 pistol and ammo to go with it. Then a theater owner reported a busted lock on a side door. He didn't find anyone inside, but did say that one of the theaters smelled like a dead body."  
  
Sara asked, "Any clue where he... where THEY'RE headed next?"  
  
"None. Warrick and Catherine are checking out the hotel where the couple originally stayed. Nick has an eye on the airport."  
  
Sara shrugged. "So? Where does that leave us?"  
  
Before Grissom could respond, the phone rang. He tensed as he answered. "Hello?"  
  
---  
  
Cross sat on the edge of the roof, looking down over the city. The cell phone trembled in his hand as he spoke. "Good morning. I saw you on the news."  
  
His wife lay next to him, staying quiet. AJ made a mental joke that it was the first time he could stand to be alone with her in all the years they'd been married. "I'm going to kill myself, Mr. Grissom; throw myself off of Caesar's Palace. You have fifteen minutes to get here to witness the end of my miserable life."   
  
He disconnected and hurled the phone over the side, watching the phone as it arched towards the pavement. When it hit the ground and shattered, a smile spread across his face. In ten minutes, he would follow... only his splatter would be all over the news.  
  
---  
  
He was a teacher back home. He coached little league baseball most summers. He taught math to a bunch of seventh graders at Harrison High School. People called him Mr. C. Four years ago, when his job had been put in jeopardy due to budget cutbacks, a bunch of students formed a petition and single-handedly saved his job. He had thrown a pizza party for them a week later using his own money. He had never felt so loved.  
  
His marriage to Shannon had been, on the surface, perfection. They had their problems; hell, everyone had problems. But it was nothing they couldn't hide beneath phony smiles and fake kisses in public. To his neighbors, AJ Cross was the most upstanding citizen in America.  
  
He could see the papers now: VEGAS CORRUPTS LOCAL NICE GUY. How would the newspapers even BEGIN to tell this story? How could a beloved teacher beat his wife to death, kill a stranger in cold blood, run from the police and end up hurling himself off of a casino? He could already see the school being closed in honor of him. He could see the students crying on the news. He could see the heartbroken principal (Mr. Vedeo) faking sympathy to the camera.   
  
Cross fingered the .45 that he was cradling in his lap. Three bullets. If luck held out, he would only need one.  
  
He heard the door open behind him and people step out. "Mr. Cross?"  
  
He didn't recognize the voice; it wasn't the man from the news. He half-turned his head. "Who're you?"  
  
"My name is Darien Fawkes. I'm a federal agent."  
  
"Who gives a shit?" He turned back around, looking down onto the throng of people gathered below. He smiled. "Human beings... we have the nerve to call each other civilized... but when one of us threatens to jump off a high structure... they turn out in droves to see the blood, to hear the splatter. I'm sick of it."  
  
"Step back from the edge, Mr. Cross."  
  
"Stop calling me Mr. Cross. My name is AJ... no... Arthur. No one ever calls me Arthur. And I don't want to come down... at least, not that way." He placed the barrel of the gun against his temple.  
  
"Cro... Arthur, don't do it. We can help you."  
  
Arthur shook his head. "You can't help me." His face was covered with tears, the silver in his eyes reflecting in the trails. "I'm actually thinking clearly... I want to do this before I take any more lives."  
  
His heart was pounding. He was down to his last few moments on Earth.  
  
"No, Arthur. No one wants you to die."  
  
Cross sobbed and said, "At least... at least I'll get to see my wife again."  
  
---  
  
Darien never even heard the gunshot that took Arthur Jamison Cross's life. The man simply jerked to the left all of a sudden, his entire body going limp. A second after the slump, he fell forward. The crowd screamed as they realized this wasn't going to be a close call. There would be no save at the last minute.  
  
They had just seen a man die.  
  
Darien collapsed, his entire body numb. "It's my fault," he muttered. "All my fault..."  
  
6 hours later...  
  
Federal agents had taken Cross' body before the CSIs had a chance to poke around for clues. Grissom was simply informed it was a federal matter and would be dealt with as such. The Las Vegas Crime Lab had effectively been shut out of the case. Case closed.  
  
Darien and Sara said good-bye at her apartment over pasta and wine. They both hated to say good-bye, so they left by saying 'see you soon.' Both knew that the chance of seeing each other again was slim, but it kept them from spending the night together...  
  
Cross' body was cremated as soon as federal agents had control of it. No official story was ever released to the public other than 'he simply snapped.'  
  
The night that AJ Cross commited suicide, Darien, Hobbes and Claire boarded a plane back to San Diego. Darien's tattoo had began filling again as soon as AJ was dead. Whatever had taken his madness from him had returned it in death.  
  
Everything was, on the surface, back to normal. But on a deeper level... it would never be the normal again.  



	7. Epilogue

  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
  
The Apothecary had poisoned presidents, high-ranking government officials and double agents. He had once been a trusted confidant to a prominent Asian ruler... only to slip a toxin into the emporer's drink. No one had ever known the difference between the poisoning and a heart attack. The Apothecary had been from Alaska to Beijing to Sri Lanka and back again, leaving an untraceable trail of bodies along the way.  
  
He had never been scared. Not until this very moment.  
  
"You failed," the man said simply. "You said you could destroy Darien Fawkes; use the madness against him."  
  
"The madness was transfered. Fawkes should have been destroyed."  
  
"Should have. Would have, could have, may have... We don't deal in maybes, Mr... what did you say your name was?"  
  
"I am the Apothecary."  
  
"Your name," the dark-haired man corrected, "is Albert Jing." He dropped a paper onto the Apothecary's lap. "Read the circled article."  
  
The Apothecary picked up the paper with his trembling fingers. After reading the first few lines, he looked up and met his employers eyes. "This is... my obituary."  
  
"Very good, Mr. Jing. It's an early edition of tomorrow's paper. I like to get a head start on Snoopy and Dilbert." Standing, the man said, "Read how he died."  
  
The Apothecary picked up the paper again. "Poisoned. Poisoned by... tainted newspaper... ink..." He dropped the paper, looking at his hands. He looked at his employer, his eyes fearful. "Mr. Stark, please!"  
  
Jared Stark removed his rubber gloves and dropped them in the trash, careful not to touch the outsides. "The poison seeped through your skin. It began killing you the moment you touched the paper. I don't like failures, Mr. Jing. And more importantly, I don't like people who don't own up to their mistakes."  
  
The Apothecary had no idea what Stark was saying. He was curled in the fetal position on the marble floor of Stark's office, clutching at his throat. Stark sighed. "Get him out of here. And be careful not to make contact with the skin."  
  
As the guards took the writhing Mr. Jing/Apothecary from the office, Stark steepled his fingers and looked out the window. "One day, Mr. Fawkes... we will find your weak spot. And we'll crush it."  
  
  
end 


End file.
